The Call of Chiron
by Llandaryn
Summary: Alexandria Mason is just 11 years old when the Unity explodes and her pod is sent crashing to Planet's surface. She struggles for survival on this harsh, unexplored new world.
1. Unity

**The Call of Chiron**

_1. Unity_

The air was thick with smoke and screams; the deafening howl of warning klaxons resounded around the corridors. People ran in both directions, their faces contorted into masks of fear and panic. Occasionally, an armed soldier would march through the crowd, and as if by magic, the waves of humanity would part before him, and flow together again in his wake.

Alexandria Mason was aware that something was seriously wrong. She wandered the corridors, being pushed aside by unseeing people. Every so often she rubbed her eyes to clear them of the smoke that clogged the warren-like corridors, and heard herself cry out "Mummy! Mummy!" But part of her felt like she wasn't really there, like it was somebody else experiencing this.

Could it be that she was still in cold-sleep? Could this be part of a dream? But why would her dreams be so unpleasant? Why was everybody scared, and ignoring her? And where were her parents? They had promised that they would be there when she was woken, that they would be waiting for her when the ship deactivated her chamber and brought her out of cold-sleep. Why weren't they there?

"Have you seen my mummy?" she asked, grabbing hold of a woman's sleeve as she passed. But the woman ignored her, pulling free her arm and continuing her own frantic search for a loved-one missing. Again and again, Alexandria asked the question, and again and again, she was ignored.

What was that noise? Why was the ship screaming so loudly? Why were the lights so dim, and why were the corridors filled with smoke? This wasn't right. The noise made it hard to think; the smoke made it hard to breathe. Emotionally drained, she sat down inside a small alcove, wrapped her arms around her knees, and rocked herself back and forth as she watched adult feet rush by.

"Alexandria! Alexandria!" Her mother's terrified cries brought her out of her trance, brought her back to the reality that she desperately wanted to escape. Further down the corridor, her mother was fighting against the flow of bodies, fighting for every step that brought her closer and closer towards the alcove.

"Mummy!" Alexandria screamed. Her mother's head swivelled in her direction, even as the people pushed her back. Summoning her last reserves of strength, Alexandria stood, and stepped out into the stream of people. They carried her onwards, and into her mother's waiting arms.

"Oh, my baby, you're safe, you're safe!" said her mother, pulling her into a tight embrace.

"Mummy, what's happening? Where's Daddy?"

"I don't know, Alex. I don't know." Her mother released her, and took her hand firmly. "Whatever you do, don't let go," she said, before pulling her once again into the stream of people flowing through the corridor.

"Where are we going, Mummy?" she asked, shouting to made herself heard above the klaxons.

"To an escape pod. The ship is on fire, we have to get off it."

"Jennifer!" called a familiar voice. _Father_!

"Paul!" her mother screamed. A tall, armour-clad man carrying a large gun waded against the flow to embrace her mother, then he crouched down and hugged her too.

"Come with me," said her father, taking her mother's hand and dragging them both along the corridor with him.

With her father finally present, Alexandria relaxed. Her father was so strong, so brave. He always knew what to do. He would make things right, make them safe. He was the third highest-ranking officer aboard the ship, right behind Captain Garland and Colonol Santiago. People called on him to solve problems. Everybody knew that.

The tide of people hurried inside the door of the escape pod, and her father pushed both her and her mother inside too. The visor on his helm was raised, and Alexandria thought that he looked both frightened and determined. The fright on his face was what scared her; her father was _never_ scared of _anything_.

"Tell him that it wasn't an accident. It was sabotage," her father said to her mother.

"We're not leaving without you, Paul," said her mother, tears trickling down her cheeks.

"I'll be right behind you. I need to get to Captain Garland. I can't leave him behind."

"No, Paul!" her mother cried. But her father ignored her. He hit the outer door button which sealed the airlock, and caused him to disappear from her view.

"Daddy!" Alexandria screamed

A second armoured figure was leading her mother towards the main compartment of the escape pod. A third appeared, and picked her up, but she fought against his grip, trying desperately to free herself, to reach the airlock controls. Her scream of "Daddy" echoed through the air again and again, but her captor proved more determined than she, and she was carried away from the airlock.

o - o - o - o - o

"Sir! We can't wait much longer, Sir!"

Academician Prokhor Zakharov, chief science officer of the Unity, looked at the impatient face of the young pilot at the escape pod's navigation controls. Though he knew that great urgency was required, he felt himself oddly reluctant to give the order to leave. The Unity had been his design. He had overseen its construction, had helped to install the computers, the chambers, the engines. It was his single greatest achievement so far, his greatest gift to mankind; the gift of freedom.

"Sir, the Unity's core is going critical! Six other pods have already left. If we don't go now, we won't get another chance!"

"Then go, damn it!" he swore, fastening his safety belt and turning his attention to the pilot's controls. He needn't have bothered. The young man knew exactly what he was doing. With the efficiency borne of countless hours of simulation and practise, he input the code to release the berthing clamps and bring the pod's directional thrusters online. There was an audible bang as the clamps released, and a hiss that indicated the airlock had depressurised and given the pod a much-needed inertial push to move it away from the Unity. Only when it was safely away could the pod's thrusters be brought into use. To do otherwise would be to risk igniting the Unity's main reactor with the heat of the pod's feeble engines.

In the background, Zakharov could hear the muted sobs and cries of the people who had dashed into the escape pod when the Unity's warning sirens had activated. _Something_ had happened. _Something_ had brought the entire crew out of cold-sleep, awakened them before their journey had ended. Only two things could do that; a command from Captain Garland, or an automated reaction to a critical malfunction in one of the Unity's systems. If the life support systems had sustained damage, or if the power was low, or the engines or reactors were damaged, the computer was rigged to automatically wake the inhabitants of the ship, to give them a chance to escape.

Through the front, reinforced window, he saw before him a binary star system. Three small planets orbited around the first, largest star, and two small planets and two gas giants orbited around the second star. So. They had reached their destination. They had reached Alpha Centauri. Their forty-year long journey was complete. But what had gone wrong? The Unity was supposed to land on the planet officially named "Alpha Centauri A One" -- the first planet orbiting the main star -- before waking the crew and the families. Judging from their location, the ship had only just entered the system before waking everyone. It should have taken weeks to reach the first planet on their ship's sub-light engines.

"Main directional thrusters engaged, Sir," the pilot reported.

"How long until we reach the first planet, Lieutenant... ah..."

"West, Sir. Lieutenant West. At our current velocity, about sixteen weeks, Sir."

"What is our speed?"

"Currently one hundred and sixty five meters per second, Sir. Approximately half the speed of sound."

"I know what the speed of sound is," he snapped.

A burst of bright light suddenly lit up the dark sky, and something struck the pod, causing it to rock violently. Zakharov grasped the arms of his chair as screams and cries of fear came from the compartment behind him. There were bangs, as if somebody or something was being thrown around, and the pilot tried desperately to stabilise the pod with the thrusters.

"What was that?" he demanded. Lieutenant West stared open-mouthed at his screen.

"It was the Unity, Sir. It just exploded."

Zakharov swivelled in his chair, turning his gaze out of the back window. In the rapidly-dwindling distance of space was the fading light of an explosion. Another small object was flying out from the Unity, but it too was caught in the shockwave. Closer than his own pod, it exploded, taking with it possibly hundreds of lives. He shuddered. If he had delayed leaving even a minute longer, that would have been their fate, too.

When he turned his attention back to the front window, he realised that the system's third planet was getting bigger and bigger, a _lot _faster than it was supposed to.

"Why are we travelling so fast?" he asked the Lieutenant.

"It was the shockwave, Sir. It knocked us off our course and sent us hurtling out of control. That, and... this planet has a moon, and the gravitational force is drawing us in."

"Use the thrusters. Stabilise our course."

"I can't, Sir. The thrusters were damaged in the blast. Only half of them are still working."

"Then divert all available power to the starboard and rear thrusters. Take us on a heading towards the moon."

"But Sir!" West's face was a mask of horror. "At this speed, we'll crash into the moon's surface!"

"No. If you time it right, we can use our velocity to sling-shot around the moon."

A slow smile crept over West's face, and his hands began moving again as he made the necessary adjustments to the navigational controls. Several of the internal lights dimmed as he diverted vital power to the pod's thrusters. Not normally a superstitious man, Zakharov crossed his fingers as the moon loomed into view.

Moons usually lacked atmosphere, which made most lunar manoeuvres much safer than planetary manoeuvres. Whether by West's good piloting or the grace of some omnipotent, unseen entity, the pod went careening past the moon, its direction changed as the gravitational pull of the celestial body brought it around in a steep arc. Not being inclined towards religion, Zakharov preferred to accredit their safety to Lieutenant West's skills than some invisible 'god'.

"Sir, the moon is cleared, but we have another problem. That shock-wave has damaged our pod too greatly. I can't change our course... there's no way we'll be able to make it to the first planet. Even if I _could_ change the course, it would take us twice as long on half-thrusters. We don't have provisions to last that long. But that doesn't matter. Right now we're on a collision course for the third planet."

"Fire reverse-thrusters at the highest power level possible without burning them out. We need to slow our descent, or we'll burn up on entry into the atmosphere."

"I don't know how much that will help, Sir. We're sitting at just under ten-thousand metres per second. Pods of this design weren't designed to withstand re-entry at speeds faster than three thousand metres per second. The structural integrity just can't handle it!"

"Those figures were calculated for Earth's atmosphere, Lieutenant. With any luck, this planet's atmosphere may have a more favourable composition."

"And just as much chance as having an _unfavourable_ composition," West grumbled quietly. But he made the changes to the thrusters as requested. His fingers still crossed, Zakharov leaned back in his chair, and prepared for a rough entry sequence.

o - o - o - o - o

When the airlock doors closed, Alexandria's world collapsed. Sobbing, she was carried into the main compartment and strapped into a seat beside her mother. All around, frightened people were crying and whispering. Some prayed aloud, while others called out for missing loved-ones. The compartment was hot and stuffy, and Alexandria gasped deeply for breath, unsure if she was hyperventilating, or whether there really _wasn't_ enough air to go around.

There was a bang and a hiss from behind her, and she screamed again for her father. Her hands flew to the buckle of her belt, her fingers working desperately to open the clasp which defied her. Her efforts ceased when her mother wrapped her arms around her and held her as close to her chest as the seats would possibly allow. And then they were moving.

The cries of the people grew louder as the pod began to move, and Alexandria felt drops of wetness splashing on her from above. Tears fell from her mother's cheeks, joining her own as they cried together.

When the pod lurched, Alexandria almost vomited. It felt like she was spinning and spinning, and then she noticed the brilliant white light out of the window. For a moment, it was even brighter than the nearby star. At any other time, it might have been beautiful. But now, she screamed for her father, unaware that her cries could not be heard over the cries of the other people.

For some time she sat there, being held by her mother and listening to the fervent prayers of those around her. They came from all voices, from men and women, from adults and children, uttered in English and in languages she did not recognise. They came from faces of all colours, from people of all nationalities. Her own prayer was not so much a request for salvation as a wish for something she could not have. A single word, uttered over and over again; "_Daddy_".

The escape pod began to shake, slowly at first, and then more violently. The prayers became louder, the scent of fear all the more tangible as the air began to heat up. The pod began to creak and groan, screaming in agony as some unforeseen stress forced its hull to conform into shapes it had never been designed to take. Luggage stored overhead in compartments fell from above, landing on people who were lashed into their seats and could not avoid it. And all throughout was the shaking, the terrible, terrible shaking that reminded her of an earthquake she had experienced back home several years ago.

And just when she thought the pod could not bear it any longer, the shaking stopped. For a few seconds, she thought that the worst was over. Then the escape pod hit the ground, and amidst the screams and cries and wails of death, Alexandria's world went black.


	2. Wreckage

_2. Wreckage_

There were groans and cries from all around as Alexandria regained consciousness. Light was filtering into the compartment through the windows, two of which had blown inwards, sending a storm of glass shards all over the passengers. In the chair beside her, her mother was still. Panic rising in her chest, she used the first two fingers of her left hand to feel for her mother's pulse on her neck. It was there, strong and steady.

"Mummy," she said, shaking her mother gently. The woman groaned, and brought her fingers to her bleeding temple.

"Alex? Are you hurt?"

"No mummy, but I think lots of other people are," she replied, taking in the sight of bleeding and cut people. One or two were still, their necks twisted at unnatural angles. Her mother unfastened their safety belts, and Alex breathed in deeply. She hadn't realised that the belt had been so tight, that it had been squeezing her lungs and her ribs so firmly. But it had done its job. It had held her in her seat and saved her life.

Not everybody had been so lucky. Outside the pod were bodies lying scattered upon the ground. They were the bodies of people whose safety belts had either failed, or not been fastened properly to begin with. They had been dragged from their seats during the crash, plucked from the compartment by an invisible hand that pulled them out of the pod as it hurtled towards the ground.

Her mother took her by the hand and dragged her towards the nearest open window. The pod was pitched somewhat strangely, so that the right-hand side of the vessel was further down than the left side. They had to fight against gravity to reach the window, and once there, her mother pushed her over the ledge.

"I'm going to start sending people up, and I want you to lead them to a safe distance away from the pod. Some of them might be frightened or hurt, so help them down and away as much as you can. I'll need to find somebody to help me with the people who can't move on their own."

Alex nodded, and her mother's head disappeared from view. From atop the highest point on the pod, she had an excellent view of the land around her, and what she saw did not look promising. There was little but bare rock and sand, with an occasional dried, withered bush clinging tenuously to its hold on the rock surface. Overhead, the sky was a brilliant azure-blue, and twin suns burnt brilliantly. With no cloud-cover, a thin sheen of perspiration quickly formed on Alex's forehead. It was going to be very, very hot here, she realised.

A bleeding woman began the slow clamber onto the top of the pod, and Alex helped her to find her footing and reach a safe place to begin the climb down to the surface. Several more people followed, mostly women and children. With relief, she saw two soldiers exit another part of the pod, carrying between them a stretcher with an injured man lashed to it. Her mother, it seemed, had found her assistants.

"Yes, yes, very good, very good, this way, over here," said a strongly accented Russian voice from below her. Alex blinked in surprise at the tall, middle-aged man who stood there directing the people as they reached the ground. She hadn't even realised that Provost Zakharov was aboard the escape pod. He frightened her, a little. Rumour said that he was the most intelligent man in the world. Some people believed that he knew _everything_. But down here, as weary as everybody else and bleeding from a gash along his temple, he looked just like any other person there.

The stream of people leaving the pod seemed unending. Most of them were able to exit under their own steam, but a few had to be stretchered out. There were very few people uninjured, Alex noticed. The soldiers, in their protective armour, had fared the best. But even they had not been completely immune. The body of one soldier had been laid out on the sand in the shade of the pod, his neck crushed by something heavy falling from above. When everybody had been accounted for, there were a total of seventy-three survivors, and twenty-four bodies were lain side by side, their eyes closed or unseeing.

"Mom!" somebody cried. Alex noticed a boy, about her age, run to one of the bodies and throw himself down upon it. Nobody tried to pull him away; others were going through the same grieving process.

She looked around for her own mother, and saw her talking to Provost Zakharov as she tended the cut on his head. That seemed a little unfair. Some of these people had broken bones and were bleeding out over the sand, staining it red with blood. Why couldn't the Provost let her mother tend to the more injured people, first? Only two other doctors had survived the crash, and they looked tired and harassed as they administered painkillers to the people screaming in agony.

"Alex." She jumped at the proximity of her mother's voice. She hadn't even seen her approach.

"Yes?" she asked.

"I want you to keep an eye on everybody whilst I start helping a few of these people. If you see anybody who looks to be in real danger or a lot of pain, tell me immediately. Can you do that?"

"Yes," she said with a nod, feeling proud that her mother trusted her with such an important task. Then she noticed that the remaining ten soldiers were making their way back into the escape pod. "What are they doing? Is there somebody left inside there?"

"No, they're salvaging as much as they can from the pod. We're going to need to take as much as we can with us."

"With us? Where are we going?" she asked in confusion.

"We can't stay here, in this desert. We have to find somewhere more hospitable to set up our base camp. We only have enough food and water provisions to last us a few weeks, and I'm going to need clean water to treat some of these people. I have to make a start now. Remember what I said. Keep an eye open for me."

Alex nodded again, and watched her mother head for the first injured person she saw. Fanning her face with her sleeve to cool herself down, Alex settled down in the shade of the crashed pod to watch over the people.

o - o - o - o - o

_00_

_-- Begin recording --_

"_This is the personal record of Provost Zakharov, Academician and Chief Science Officer of the Unity._

_It has been four hours since our escape pod crashed into the surface of Alpha Centauri Alpha Three, which I have designated 'Chiron'. I am aggrieved to report that twenty-four fatalities have occurred during the crash. Chief Medical Officer Mason has given me two pieces of information which I feel I should make note of as a matter of urgency. Firstly, the death toll may yet rise by another five, as we have crew members in critical condition. One of these is my friend and colleague of many years, Doctor Federov. He is a brilliant man, and I only hope that he is not taken from us. Now, more than ever, I am in need of his expertise and guidance._

_The second important piece of information is that this entire situation was no mere accident. Dr Mason has informed me that her husband told her somebody sabotaged the Unity, causing its reactor core to go critical and eventually overload, resulting in countless hundreds of deaths. Dr Mason's own husband, Colonel Paul Mason, was onboard the Unity when it exploded. I am told that he died trying to reach Captain Garland. Loyal to his Captain until the end, he died a hero's death, and I will make sure he is remembered for as long as I live. For now, I am without a senior military officer. A fact that I shall have to soon rectify._

_Even though the thought of a saboteur fills me with dread, the information at least has the advantage of absolving me of some guilt. Had the Unity's reactor overloaded because of some design flaw or technical malfunction, my own hands would be red with the blood of innocent lives lost. As it is, my conscience is now a little cleaner. Still, I must face the fact that onboard the ship was a saboteur. He, or she, may still be with my group... or perhaps with one of the other groups. That is, if any of them made it down to the planet's surface. If their pods were as damaged as ours by the shockwave, it could be that they perished upon entry._

_Speaking of damage... our escape pod has extensive damage to its exterior, but thanks to the exceptional piloting skills of one Lieutenant Casey West, has minimal internal structural damage. Though the pod's thrusters and engines are now entirely destroyed, the main section of the colony pod is still operational. The marines are currently in the process of removing the colony pod from the ruined husk of the escape pod. In addition, they have also discovered a single terraforming unit still intact. The other two have been irreparably damaged, and I have a science team salvaging as much as possible from these damaged units._

_The marines have taken stock, and I record here and now what we have, so that future generations may understand how sparsely we are equipped, and how we must overcome this deficiency to survive. We are left with: One colony pod, one terraforming unit, food and water provisions to last several weeks, two cases of medical supplies and one case of medical instruments, one slightly damaged Scout Rover, some personal items of luggage such as individuals' clothes and shoes, a portable radio plus receiver, three hazmat suits, two barrels of fuel for the vehicles, a box of solar cells, a desalination unit, three simple industrial robots, and a complement of seeds from a variety of Earth plants._

_As to the planet itself; as far as I can tell, it is of the Class M type, therefore habitable by humans. The area where we have crashed seems reminiscant of parts of Earth. There is nought around but bare rock and sand, with an occasional withered tree clinging tenuously to life. Due to the nature of the planet's binary system, I suspect temperatures may reach anywhere between forty-five and sixty-five degrees celsius during the height of the day, and that nights will last half as long as they do on Earth. Breathing is a little more difficult than it is in Earth's atmosphere, and I put this down to a lower number of photosynthesising plants available to create an oxygen-rich environment._

_I have settled on the name 'Chiron', because in Greek mythology, Chiron was the name of a learned Centaur who taught many Greek heroes. Alpha Centauri is the brightest star of the Centaurus constellation, when viewed from Earth._

_For now, the marines are indicating that they have found something they wish me to see. I will stop here, lest I begin to waffle. I will end by saying only this; that I will keep a sharp eye open for any sign of this sabateur, for any sign of betrayal. And if I should find any individual guilty of such treasonous actions, they will not live to regret it."_

_-- End recording --_

"Sir! We've found something else," West called. Zakharov closed his portable computer and carried it firmly in his grip to the group of marines who were stood around another crate.

"Well done, Lieutenant," he said as the soldiers began unfastening the locks. "Your performance during this trial has been commendable. I hereby promote you to the rank of Colonel, effective immediately."

"But Sir, I'm a pilot. I haven't been trained for command!"

"Then you shall have to improvise. We must all rise to the challenges given to us, Colonel. With the death of Colonel Mason, you are the highest ranking officer within my group. I have seen that you have considerable talents, and can keep your head during an emergency. The people need to know that their safety is being taken care of, West, and they will look to _you_ for evidence of this."

"I'll try my best, Sir," West saluted.

"Excellent. I don't doubt it. Now, what have you found that you wish me to see?"

"Weapons, Sir. The latest models." The lid of the crate was opened, and he saw guns of different shapes and sizes, enough to equip every marine there twice over.

"It's too bad we don't have more soldiers to carry them," said Zakharov. "Put them inside the colony pod. We'll take them with us."

"I want a gun," said a voice behind him. He turned in surprise to regard the speaker; it was a young girl.

"Alex, no!" said Dr Mason, hurrying over and shaking her daughter by the shoulders, as if that would bring common sense to the child's mind. He gently prised the girl out of her mother's grip, and knelt down in front of her.

"And why do you want a gun?" he asked.

"Because somebody sabotaged the Unity and killed my father. If I find them, I will kill them."

"From the mouths of babes," he remarked to West. "No, child. If I gave you a weapon then I would be no better than that fanatical Miriam woman. Besides, the guns are very heavy, and it takes years of military training before you can safely use one."

"Perhaps she can carry a side-arm, Sir," West suggested.

"What? Are you honestly suggesting that we _arm_ our _children_?"

"Well, you _did_ make me a Colonel, Sir. The pistols are small and can be carried easily. Who knows what we might run into here, Sir. If we are attacked, by animals or other people, it might be wise to have people to fire guns, even if it's only into the air as a scare-tactic."

"Oh, very well. But a single round _only_, Colonel. And make sure she knows how to use it."

A second child stepped forward, a boy who had until now been crying over the bodies of his parents. His tear-stained face was determined.

"It looks like we have a second volunteer, Colonel," one of the marines grinned.

"Alex, why are you doing this?" Dr Mason asked, pleading with her daughter one last time.

"It's what Daddy would have wanted, Mum. He would have wanted me to protect you, and all the other families."

"What have we come to, when we give our children weapons?" Mason asked, standing to confront him.

"We have come to desperation. To an unknown planet, with potentially harmful forms of life. Had the children stayed on Earth, they would have been surrounded by a gun-culture, brought into the gang wars and drug wars or terrorist raids that were growing increasingly common. They would have been drafted into the military and sent off to kill other children from other nations. At least here, the choice is theirs, and they have made that choice for a noble cause. Not to kill people, but to defend their loved-ones."

Dr Federov could probably have said it more eloquently, but in the end Dr Mason relented, and allowed a marine to fasten to both children a belt with a holster and pistol. The doctor returned to her patients as the soldier began teaching the children how to care for and use their new weapons.

"Provost!" called one of the scientists as he exited the ruined pod. Zakharov left the children and the marines to whatever it was they needed to do, and mentally called up the name of the man addressing him. Professor Rutworth was a German computer scientist. He had helped to design the Unity's main computer system.

"What is it?"

"The pod's computer was damaged during the crash, Provost. We've downloaded as much as we can, but we've lost a tremendous amount of data."

"What? How is this possible? The computer is protected against damage by the black box."

"I believe that the shockwave caused most of the damage, Provost," said a second scientist, stepping out of the pod. Like he, she was Russian. Her long black hair was tied roughly behind her, and she observed him through her lids as she explained. "An electro-magnetic pulse followed the shockwave, knocking out most of the computer functions. It was a wonder the pilot was able to land us in mostly one piece."

"The Unity's magnetic container must have collapsed and caused the reactor to generate an EMP," Zakharov sighed.

"Not all of the data is lost," Ruthworth continued. "We downloaded a little of it, and yet more of it which is merely corrupted. We can work at restoring the corrupt data over time, but I would recommend we do so only within a protected environment, such as the inside of the colony pod. If this planet gets as hot as I think it will... not to mention potential sand and dust damage..."

"Very well," he sighed. "Once we have the colony pod working you can both work inside it, try to restore as much information as possible. The EMP didn't affect the computers inside the colony pod, the terraformer, or the memory banks of the industrial robots, did it?"

"No," said the woman. He recalled her name: Irena Korolev, a brilliant physicist despite her young age. "They were not active, therefore not affected by the pulse."

"Good. Keep salvaging whatever you can."

The scientists nodded, and returned to the inside of the pod. Zakharov turned to watch Dr Mason working on Dr Federov, and sent a silent wish for his friend to recover. Now, more than ever, he needed the older man's guidance.


	3. Salvage

_3. Salvage_

"Again," said the marine. His name, he had told her, was Lieutenant Banks. At his command she pulled the gun from its holster and cocked it, her left hand rising to support the weapon. "Good. Now you."

The boy beside her mimicked her movement, aiming at the boulder two dozen paces away in the sand. The other marines watched on around them while Colonel West gave instructions to the other people... the civilians, her father would have called them. He was advising the ones who were capable of moving to get into the shade of the escape pod. When he saw her watching him he made his way over, gesturing at the pod.

"Do you see a problem with that?" he asked.

"It's on its side," she replied promptly.

"Yes, but that's not a problem. We can extract the colony pod without too much difficulty. Take a look at what you see."

She looked more closely. The pod was banked in a sand dune. It had burn damage along its side. Debris was littered around it. Her mother and the other doctors were working in its shade, whilst survivors gathered around it.

"It's still morning," said the boy suddenly. "After midday there won't be any shade, because of the suns."

"That's right," said West. Alexandra felt her cheeks heat; she should have seen it herself. It was such an obvious thing, but she had been too focused on the smaller things. The ability to notice little things was something she had picked up from watching and listening to her mother work.

"Sir, what are we supposed to do now?" Banks asked.

"Now we survive, Lieutenant. I want you to continue with the salvage work. I don't know when the Provost wants us to leave, but I suspect it will be as soon as the injured can move, and probably by night. Show our new recruits what needs doing and keep an eye on them while they do it."

Banks led them to the escape pod where one of the hatches had been forced and wedged open. He dodged around scientists who sounded as if they were speaking a foreign language, though Alex knew they were simply using scientific technical jargon that was far beyond her own understanding. As she moved deeper into the pod, following Banks, she was plunged into darkness. She understood that some sort of pulse had knocked out the power in the escape pod, so the internal lighting system was not functional. Thankfully, Banks pulled out a torch, its solar battery replenished by several hours of exposure to the twin suns.

By the light of the torch she could make out shapes, cold and angular, but did not recognise any of the equipment. The beam of light only illuminated a small area, not enough for her to distinguish her surroundings by. Banks stopped beside a wall and pulled part of the panelling aside. Hidden behind it was a lever or handle, which he pulled. There was a groaning sound somewhere above, like an invisible monster growling in warning.

"What was that?" she asked.

"Hatch," he said, pointing the torch up. A door was outlined high above; a door that had not been there previously. "I'll give you both a leg up."

"What are we supposed to do up there?" the boy asked.

"We need to gut this place before we leave. Strip the cabling from the walls." He handed the boy a switch-knife. "One of you cut, the other pull. Coil it up and toss it down, then we'll take it outside and pile it up so the scientists can decide what we're taking. Then we'll move on to the next wall section."

"Do we really need to take wires and cables with us?" asked Alex.

"You're damn right. The industrial robots can make some, but they need raw components. Until we have some, anything and everything can be of use to us. Survival tip number one; use everything at your disposal. Nothing is to be wasted. Now, give me your foot, I'll push you up."

The lieutenant made a cradle with his hands, his fingers interlocking, and she stepped into it, steadying herself on his shoulders. He straightened his legs and his back and she found herself rising until she could reach the hatch. With all of her strength she pulled it open wide enough to squeeze through, then reached inside the shaft, hoisting herself up as Banks pushed her from below. Once she was safely inside the dark tunnel she turned around and pulled the hatch open further as the marine lifted the boy up too. She gripped his arm and pulled him in beside her.

"Here, take this too," said Banks, throwing up the torch. She caught it and hugged it to her chest, afraid she might drop it and break it, plunging them into darkness. "The cabling should run overhead. One of you cut the ties and the trunking -- but watch you don't cut through the wire casing -- and the other reel the cabling into a loop."

"Do you want to cut?" Alex asked the boy.

"Sure," he shrugged.

"Start at the far end of the shaft," said Banks. "Work your way towards me. When you're done with the cabling above you'll need to lift some of the floor panelling out and take the cables from there too. Be careful, though... they'll have coolant sealed inside them. Don't cut into them. And mind your heads... I swear, midgets built the Unity."

Alex quickly realised what he meant. As she crawled along the shaft, following the boy, she began to feel mild claustrophobia. She only had to bend her elbows to feel the walls on either side of her, and she couldn't fully lift her head without banging it on the ceiling above. How adults had managed to fit inside these shafts she did not know.

When they came to a bulkhead which separated one section of tunnelling from the next, they stopped, and began taking out the panels of the ceiling. Sure enough, removing them uncovered cabling that was held firmly up with plastic ties. As the boy began cutting through the ties, and the cables and wires began to fall, Alex picked them up and began coiling them around her arm. When she was eight her father had shown her how to throw a life-rope to somebody who was drowning. He had shown her how to coil it around her arm before throwing it, to make sure it did not tangle or fall short, and she used the same methods on the cables. When she had a small pile she pushed them along the shaft to the hatch, dropping them down to Banks. Then she returned to the far end of the shaft, back to the comforting torchlight.

"What's your name?" she asked the boy as they worked.

"Scott. Scott Ford. What's yours?"

"Alex Mason."

"Alex is a boy's name."

"It's short for Alexandria," she said.

"That's a weird name."

"It's a city in Egypt. It's where my parents got married."

At the mention of her parents the boy's face turned sad, and she felt like kicking herself. Of course, his parents had been dead only a few hours. How could she be so insensitive?"

"Are you from America?" she asked to change the subject.

"Yeah. From Tennessee."

"I'm from England, I've never been to America before. What's it like?"

"Big and dangerous. And lots of fields. Your mom's Doctor Mason, isn't she?"

"Yes. My dad's Colonel Mason... he died when the Unity exploded," she said, holding back the tears that threatened to spill.

"You're lucky you have such important parents. We only got on the Unity 'cos we were rich."

"Your parents bought their tickets?"

"They weren't my parents."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I thought I heard you call the... the lady who died... your mum."

"Well, they weren't my real parents," he elaborated. "My real parents died when I was young. I was adopted when I was six because their own son died and they wanted someone to replace him."

"Oh."

"Do you think we're ready to start on the floor now?"

"Yes, I think so. I'll just take this cabling to Lieutenant Banks, then I'll help you take the floor up."

o - o - o - o - o

_-- Begin recording --_

"_This is the personal record of Provost Zakharov, Academician and Chief Science Officer of the Unity._

_The death count has just risen to twenty five. One of the people in serious condition died only hours ago, despite Dr Mason's best efforts to save her. Dr Federov remains unconscious and unresponsive. Dr Mason informs me that his condition is 'serious but stable'. It is a small blessing to be counted._

_ The day proved to be as harsh as I had expected, with temperatures reaching above fifty degrees celsius. I have estimated that the daily cycle of Chiron lasts for thirty six hours, as opposed to the twenty four of earth. As such, I shall, from the morning, began time-stamping my recordings accordingly. As I record this entry, night is almost upon us. After almost eight hours of blistering heat, the air is finally beginning to cool. I fear that this place is typical of Earth deserts, and that the temperature will plummet to near or below freezing at night. _

_ Naturally, everybody is struggling to cope with these extremes, as well as the stress that accompanies a tragedy of this magnitude. I myself am almost overwhelmed by it at times. When the temperatures were at their highest, and the suns were directly overhead, we had no shade. Temperary structures, rough lean-tos, were erected utilising the clothes of the dead, and these did provide some measure of shelters from the suns. Dr Mason fears that people will begin suffering from sunstroke, heatstroke and sunburn if more permanent shelter cannot be found soon._

_ The marines have been tearing out of the escape pod anything that they think may be of use, and the scientists are sorting through the materials, deciding what is most important to bring along. We have managed to fully repair the Scout Rover, and two of the marines have taken it to explore our immediate surroundings. It is my hope that they will find caves, carved by wind and sand, in which we can seek shelter. At the very least I would settle for a source of water. In this heat we cannot last for long without water._

_ Professors Rutworth and Korolev have been working on restoring the pod's memory, but I fear their task is futile. Too much damage was done by the EMP when the Unity's core exploded. Though the colony pod computer has some functionality, most of its long-term memory has been wiped. Whilst I grieve for the loss of so much valuable knowledge, I wonder if perhaps this is a chance for us to start anew. Many wonderful ideas and discoveries were recorded in the banks of the memory... but so were mankind's greatest failings. Perhaps, in a hundred years, nobody will recall that there had ever been a holocaust on earth. Perhaps the effects of radiation poisoning will no longer be known, and nobody will have the desire, or knowledge, to create weapons of mass destruction._

_ Can we turn this tragedy into an opportunity? Can we build a new society and base it off our morals and ideals, rather than off the flaws which led our fore-fathers to unleash hell on Earth? Perhaps it is something worth considering further, once our immediate task of simply surviving is complete."_

_--End recording -- _

o - o - o - o - o

Working inside the escape pod was tiring. By the time Alex crawled out of the last hatch and was helped to the floor by Banks, she was hot, sweaty, hungry and exhausted. The torch battery had died almost an hour ago, and they had continued working by touch alone.

"Good work, you two," said Banks, helping Scott out of the shaft. "Let's get some food and drink in you."

She nodded wearily and trudged after him. The scientists were still working, still chattering their strange words at each other, but she was too tired to care. And when he reached the pod's open hatch, and a blast of hot air hit her face, she cared even less. All she wanted to do was lie down and sleep.

"Are you regretting volunteering now?" Banks asked.

"No," she said, hiding a yawn behind her hand. "It's better than sitting around doing nothing, watching other people do all the work."

"What about you, Ford? You regretting it?"

"No. When do we get to practise shooting for real?" Scott asked.

"You don't. We don't have enough rounds to waste on target practise."

"Then why don't you give us laser pistols like yours?" asked Alex, pointing to his side-arm.

"'Cos the Provost said 'one round only' and you can't get single round cells for lasers. Besides, they're too complicated. Too many settings. Guns are easier... point and shoot. You won't have time to be messing around with settings, if you need to use it."

One of the marines brought the three of them a cup of water each, and handed out foil-wrapped rations. Alex gulped her water down then broke open the foil, biting hungrily into the bar of food. She knew what was inside it; cereals, dried fruit, seeds and dried meat, held together by a fat-rich substance. It was designed to provide all of the nutrients, oils, vitamins and fats that a person needed in day, all condensed down into a single bar. It didn't taste very nice, but her body craved the energy, so she ate it as fast as possible, trying not to think about what it tasted like.

"Alex." Looking around, she saw her mother gesturing for her.

"I think my mum wants me," she said to Banks.

"Better not keep the doctor waiting," he said. She gave him a salute, as she had seen men do to her father, and hurried to her mother's side. She was laying clothes out on the floor... making an impromptu bed, Alex realised.

"How was your day, honey?" her mother asked.

"It was fine," she shrugged, sitting cross-legged on the warm sand. "Lieutenant Banks said I'm a good worker."

"I see. Well, how would you like to help me tomorrow? I could use an extra pair of hands in treating some of my patients."

"I don't know... I'll have to ask Colonel West. He might want me and Scott to do more work in small places where the marines can't go."

"Scott?"

"He's the boy whose parents died. They were rich Americans. He said his name's Scott Ford."

"Yes, his father owned the company that designs engines for industrial robots and terraformers. He was one of the richest men in the world."

"Mummy, Scott said his parents bought their tickets, but I thought only important people were allowed to come with us on the Unity, like scientists and doctors and soldiers."

"Well... at first, that's how it was supposed to be," said her mother hesitantly. "But the leaders of the expedition couldn't agree on how to decide who to bring. In the end they decided that a third of the colonists should be experts in their fields, a third should be allowed to buy places, and a third would be picked from a lottery."

"What's a lottery?"

"It means that names are put into a pot and picked out at random. Only, this lottery was done electronically, picked by computers."

"But that means just anybody could be travelling with us!" she said, alarmed. "Like... thieves and killers and stuff!"

"No, the people entered into the lottery were only people who had a clean criminal record. That was one of the points that the group leaders _could_ agree on."

"So... some of the people here can't actually do anything except make money?"

"That's a very simplistic way of looking at it, Alex. Every person here, every life, is precious. Nobody can decide who is more important than others."

"Not even Provost Zakharov?"

"That's... different," her mother sighed.

"How?"

"Provost Zakharov is our leader. And he's a very intelligent man."

"So it's okay for the leader to decide who's more important."

"Come and lie down, Alex," said her mother, brushing off her question. "It's going to get very cold tonight, and I want to make sure you're warm enough."

"Can't I sleep with the marines?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because your father is dead and you're all I have left."

She relented, feeling guilty for upsetting her mother. She was right, of course. Now that her father was gone, it was just the two of them. But what about Scott? Both of his parents had died, and now he had nobody. She looked for him as she lay down on the bed of clothes that her mother had made, but she couldn't see him anywhere. _Must be with the marines,_ she thought, closing her eyes as her mother cuddled up to her.

This was a horrible planet. It was always too hot or too cold. Her lips were dry, her mouth was dry, and she had sand in her shoes. She hoped that they wouldn't be staying here very long.

* * *

NB: At the beginning of the recordings done by Provost Zakharov, there is supposed to be a timestamp. It seems fanfiction dot net doesn't like the timestamp, so it just takes it out completely. Apologies for any confusion this brings.


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